Austin's Diary - Naughty Boy

Naughty Boy:

Milton had stronger words than naughty. He used the D words: defiant and disobedient. Oh, God, my ears are still ringing, and you don’t want to know the shade of my ass the first day. It’s less gaudy now, but still vibrant. On naughty boy day, I strained around to look at it in the mirror, and it was red with ugly purple stripes. I’m starting to hate the cane and its Technicolor aftermath.

As anyone with two brain cells to rub together could guess Milton was livid about me walking out after being told to be a good boy and stay at home. Obedience isn’t my forte. At least according to Milton, obedience is a word with which I must become better acquainted. Obedience, submission, bondage, authority—they are all supposed to become my favorite words. 

Well, back to that fateful day. Chained to the desk, there’s not much else to do but think and scribble in my diary about my tribulations. And, yeah, I’m chained to the desk. I’m the proud owner of a pair of leather wrist bands that double as lovely cuffs. It’s really not too bad; they’re soft and oiled and look great, and they’re mine. Milton had them made for me. I can’t begin to describe all the other scary leather bits in that shop. Milton bought a few other bits from the little, gray-haired man behind the counter. He should have been in some eighteenth-century tiny office with a quill pen and a dripping candle, not selling strange straps and buckles to men with leather jackets and massive motorcycles. A guy with a mountain man beard and definitely not on Ryan’s exercise plan—no six pack there except in the cooler—kept ogling me until Milton wrapped his arm around my waist and flashed his cuffs links. Sir and Green Mountain Boy were suddenly on everybody’s lips, and the motorcycle guys stopped undressing me with their eyes and whispering lewd comments, which they knew I could hear.

Sorry readers; I know I’m wandering off. The leather shop came after naughty boy day. I have lots of time to wander off in my mental maze. I’ll backtrack in a second. Milton’s grading final exams, and I’m parked until he’s crossed out the last error and written paragraphs of explanation for the students’ mistakes. OK, I’m getting on track—no more diversions. I’ll get back to naughty boy day.

After Luke’s wise warning to be good, I banged out of the house and headed down the street. The spies were watching me this time because I hadn’t even made it the turn onto the main street when the Northern Terror cut me off with his car. Gordon triple parked—if there is such a thing—and climbed out of his silver European sedan. 

“Lad.”

“You’re blocking the traffic.” I tried to dodge around the car, but it wasn’t a wide street, and he was tripled park, blocking all ingress and egress.

His eyebrows rose into his almost vanished hairline. “Lad, do not fight if you aren’t prepared for the consequences.”

“Fresh air’s not illegal.” I had this perverse desire to shout “make me,” but my inexplicable death wish was stopped by Milton whose long strides had closed the distance between the house and me, and he was now at my elbow. The dragon was here, and I swear I could see smoke billowing from his nostrils.

“Come.” Milton grabbed my wrist and turned toward home. 

I tried to hold my ground; I even grabbed hold of a scrawny street tree. Milton’s hand landed so hard that I jerked forward, losing my precious anchor. 

“If you wish to make a public spectacle, I will oblige you.” His hand landed an unnecessary flurry of swats on my rapidly tenderizing ass. 

I moved my legs after him. He didn’t have to explain more. The message was loud and clear: come or I’ll spank you right here. Street spanking wasn’t an appetizing prospect. I followed Milton at a near run; my legs were desperate to keep up with his long strides. We clattered into the house, up the stairs, and into the study.

“Boy, do you any explanation besides open defiance?” Milton could have hired his eyes out to the local hospital as a low cost x-ray unit. 

I managed to shake my head. I didn’t have an explanation; it had just seemed like a good idea at the time.

“Defiance and disobedience are punished in this relationship.” Milton opened his desk drawer and pulled out the dreaded cane. 

“No. Please.” I didn’t know my lips had formed those words, but I heard them in the air. My knees were shaking, and I know I must have turned an unnatural shade of white because Milton pulled me into the confines of his chest.

“Austin.” Milton’s voice was soft against my overstrained nervous system. “If you’re that afraid of the punishment, why did you deliberately engineer this outcome?”

“It hurts. Please don’t.” I was sniffling, the tears running down my face.

“Cub, you just bought more than you want to pay for. I don’t operate on credit.” Milton stripped my jeans and boxers and guided me over his knee. His arm was heavy across my back; my legs were trapped between his thighs. 

The spanking was long, and I wasn’t coherent after the tenth blow. He went on and on forever. Tilden could have read War and Peace in its entirety as Milton’s hand spoke volumes about his displeasure on my backside. I was rag doll limp when he draped me over the desk and brought the cane down in a crisp line of fire. My howl was heard in Canada if not in Greenland. The second strike landed like searing fire, and Milton wrapped me into his powerful arms.

“Shh. We’ll have the neighbors thinking I’m an ax murderer.”

“You are,” I managed between the tears.

“Hardly, only two for intentional defiance.” He held me tight, letting his solidness and calmness sink into my bones. Milton brushed the hair off my forehead, his lips resting against my sweaty skin for a moment. “Don’t ask for what you don’t want. I won’t be this generous next time.” He found my boxers and pulled them up before he wrapped his giant hand around my wrists and led me around the desk. Still holding me, he rummaged in the lowest drawer.

The cuffs were soft with fur and worn leather and buckles tinged with rust. The chain rattled as he threaded it through the cuffs and around the desk leg. It was too tight to stand comfortably, pulling my arms and shoulders down. Sitting didn’t look inviting even as Milton tossed a sofa cushion on the floor.

“You’ll be most comfortable if you kneel.” Milton’s hand skimmed over my hair once, and he sat at the desk.

Cuffed and kneeling I was at his feet and at his mercy. I won’t say I went down immediately because I didn’t. I pulled against the chain and yowled like an ungracious little boy. I jerked against the unyielding chain, and a sting landed across my thigh. The cane was in Milton’s lap. I hadn’t seen it move through the air.

“Settle down. You’ll hurt yourself.”

“You’re doing this to me! Let me go. Fuck you!”

I was yanking on the chain, throwing myself upward. The cuffs jerked at my wrist; the fur not enough to protect my skin from abuse.

Milton’s body landed on top of me. He is a big man. He covered me easily, pinning me to the floor, my arms trapped under my body and his. I fought him. I couldn’t have moved him with both arms free and a crowbar in one hand and a baseball bat in the other. With my hands chained, my useless flopping was effortlessly smothered under his bulk.

“Better?” he whispered into my ear as I lay panting and gasping.

Better? I was supposed to answer that? Fortunately he spoke into the silence.

“Cub, I told you exactly what would happen if you walked out of this house. At some level you want this. It’s a part of your identity, a part of your submission, a part of your soul. Welcome it. Happiness comes with embracing your desires, not imprisoning them within Potemkin villages of societal expectations. You’re a submissive; your desires and whims and pleasures are not in family portraits of white veils and church spires or at the cineplex or in the ready pornography of the internet. They are in your mind and in your body. You want to be kept close. I can do that; we can both enjoy it, and there is no shame.” Milton kissed the back of my head. “I’m going to slide off you now. Kneel up for me, and we’ll do this again.”

I knelt up, swaying from exhaustion and confusion. Milton knelt behind me, bracing me against his body, his breath hot against my neck.

“My good boy,” he whispered after a long silence. He ruffled my hair and stood up. “Why do I aways pick submissives who do everything the absolute most difficult way? It must be my curse. Sheldon and now you.” He smiled, and I floated in its warmth. 

His good boy.

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This is the last post in Austin's Diary. The Anniversary was inadvertently posted out of order.